


The Ghost of Bedingfeld Manor

by RedBeardBanjo356



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ghosts, Haunted Houses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:41:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29703513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedBeardBanjo356/pseuds/RedBeardBanjo356
Summary: Travis Clark was dared to spend an entire night in the creepy old house on the outskirts of town. Rumor had it that it was haunted, and it seems that they were in fact true.
Kudos: 1





	The Ghost of Bedingfeld Manor

T. D. Wolff

The Ghost of

Bedingfeld Manor

A SHORT STORY

Travis Clark slowly climbed up the steps of Bedingfeld Manor—an old Victorian-era mansion—as the sun began to dip behind the distant hills. A gentle breeze stirred the dead grass that covered the once healthy front yard, and moaned through the bare branches of the few standing trees. A few dead leaves that had not yet fallen loosened their hold on the branches and swirled to the ground.

From somewhere around the side of the dilapidated building, a loose shutter banged loudly against the faded clapboard siding, startling young Travis.

If I live though the night, I swear I’ll get them for this, he thought, pausing before the front door. He glanced over his shoulder at the unkempt bushes that stood on either side of the front gate where he knew that some of the kids from school waited, watching him.

I really must be dumb. Why is it that I always have to accept every dare that someone challenges me with? He groused, shifting the straps of his backpack and turning toward the door again, the cool autumn breeze stirring his curly blond hair.

He took a nervous breath, and reached for the door knob. Just one night, that’s all. If I can make it through the night, they’ll let me in their group. And then maybe I can make it through the fifth grade without getting called a chicken, or yellow…

He turned the antique knob and pushed. The door creaked open slowly, echoing loudly in the dusty entry hall.

Slowly, he took his first step into the abandoned mansion. The old wooden floor squeaked loudly as his foot made contact. He froze for a moment, startled, then after a moment, moved the other foot over the threshold.

There he stood, peering around the musty, dusty old hall.

The hall was covered in part with peeling red wallpaper on the upper walls, and the lower with a dark oak paneling. Along one side of the room rose a staircase, old family portraits lining the wall alongside it. The staircase led to a balcony, of which he couldn’t see too much in the fading light.

Tall windows rose on either side of the door, with moth-eaten red drapes that hung to the floor. They were a main light source for the room—during the day. They were doing little good now, though.

Travis shrugged off the pack and rummaged around for a flashlight. Finding it, he flicked the switch on, and swept the beam around the room.

Any light switches around here? He wondered, glancing up at a crystal chandelier. A quick sweep of the room told him no.

He glanced back at the door, and saw Billy Hudgens standing next to the bushes.

“Travis!” Billy shouted from his safe position by the gate. “Get in there, or else you ain’t never gonna join us. You wanna survive the fifth grade without bein’ called a chicken an’ gettin’ beat up, now don’tcha?”

Travis grated his teeth, “Fine, I’m going.”

As he was turning back, Billy added, “I’ll have Ricky ’n George watchin’ the place, to make sure you don’t try to chicken out.”

Travis paused.

“Fine,” he replied.

“Oh, and keep an eye out fer the ghost of Lady Bedingfeld. I hear that she’s been a bit active lately.”

Jerks, he thought, swinging the flashlight back around. How would they like spending the night alone in one of the creepiest places in town?

He took a couple more steps into the hall, as the sun finally sank fully behind the hills. Darkness moved in, surrounding him. A chill ran down his spine. Billy was just trying to scare me, saying that the old lady’s ghost has been active. Wasn’t he?

He scanned the room nervously and saw an old candelabra on a table along the wall opposite the stairs. A few stumpy white candles still stood in the brass branches. Unfortunately he hadn’t brought any matches with him.

But maybe there are some matches in the kitchen, or something. I should take a look around, I guess, he thought, reluctantly beginning his search with the doorway to the left of the front door.

The door led to a cobweb covered front parlor, decorated in torn, water-stained flower print wallpaper, and with the same dark oak paneling as the front hall, and a thick pile of dusty red carpet. A few velvet upholstered high-backed chairs sat around a squat—but ornate—antique table. Around the room were shelves, on which rested trinkets and trophies from far off lands, from a time long before, most of which should have been in a museum.

An old mirror hung from one wall, and on the wall perpendicular to it hung a portrait of some gentleman in uniform—who Travis assumed was the original owner of the mansion.

“Guess you won’t mind if I take a look around, now will you?” He muttered, moving to search the fireplace along the exterior wall. Unfortunately, there were no matches.

He shrugged, and began to turn toward the doorway, when he heard a creak in the direction of the front hall.

“H-hello?” He asked nervously, shining his light toward the doorway. “Is anyone there?”

He began walking toward the front hall, slowly and quietly.

Suddenly, the front door slammed shut, rattling the windows and glass objects in the room.

Travis jumped, and dropped his flashlight. He quickly retrieved it and dashed to the door, and tried to open it, but it held fast, either locked or stuck.

“Okay, you guys! Open the door!” he demanded, jerking on the knob.

No answer came.

“Come on Billy, this isn’t funny!”

Still nothing. A whisper of sound came from somewhere.

“Ricky, was that you?”

Silence.

Travis’s heart started to race.

“George? You out there?”

Only the moaning of the wind reached his ears in answer.

Okay, I just need to calm down, he thought to himself, taking a couple of deep breaths. They’re just trying to freak me out.

He turned back to the hall, and shone the light around the room again. Nothing.

Steeling himself, he moved slowly toward the drawing room door—which was in the wall parallel to the staircase. The floor gave a loud creak in one spot as he stepped down, and he froze, listening.

Not hearing anything more, he moved his foot forward a bit more, and this time he was rewarded with no squeak. He finally reached the door to the drawing room. He slowly reached for the doorknob. He jerked his hand back upon touching it, for it felt cold as ice.

That’s weird, he thought, using his jacket sleeve as a gloves. He gripped it and turned. Finding it unlocked, he slowly pushed the door open.

The drawing room was much plainer than the parlor had been, with only white—now yellowed—wallpaper on the walls. There was a broken table and a few chairs in a heap in the middle of the room, and a chipped and warped piano along the far wall. A few portraits lay on the floor, their frames twisted or broken, the canvases torn.

Travis shrugged, and began to turn around, when something glinted in the light. Slowly he moved into the musty room, past the broken table, toward the far corner.

Now, what’s this? He wondered, stooping to pick up the object of interest.

It was a silver brooch, with a large tear-drop shaped opal set in the center of it.

He held it up a bit further, shining the light on it. I bet mom would like this.

Slipping it into his pocket, he turned back toward the hall.

From the front hall, he opened another door, and discovered that it led to the rear hall, off of which branched the kitchen and dining rooms. He skipped the dining room and headed straight for the kitchen, anxious to find the matches.

The kitchen was badly in need of repair. There were holes in one wall, a leg had rusted through and broken on the cast-iron stove, the cabinets had warped from water damage, and there were gaping holes in the floor. All that remained of the once green wallpaper were a few tatters hanging in a corner. On one side of the room was a doorway that Travis assumed led to the basement.

He cautiously moved over to the broken stove, careful to avoid the holes in the floor.

Out of curiosity, Travis shone the light down a hole. All he could see was the damp floor of the basement. With a shrug, he continued to the stove. 

Okay, matches. Where would matches be? He shone the flashlight around the immediate vicinity of the stove. Ah-ha! There they are, he thought, as the beam rested on a small metal box attached to the wall.

Thankfully, there were some matches in it. Travis grabbed a handful and headed back to the front hall and the candelabra.

After lighting the candles, he felt a little better.

Light. You don’t know how much you like it until you get dared to stay in a dark, creepy, old house. He flicked off the flashlight, then picked up the candelabra and carried it with him as he went back into the rear hall.

The rear hall was sparsely decorated. The walls were paneled with the same dark oak as the other rooms, except that the paneling went from floor to ceiling.

A quick peek into the dining room showed little. The room had once had a dark green wallpaper; it had since faded to a much lighter shade, but was probably in the best condition compared to the rest of the rooms he’d been in. The dining set had also broken at some point, and the old sideboard had fallen over onto the remains of the dining set.

The rear hall also had a door, but it too was either stuck or locked. Right next to the door, a second flight of stairs rose, but it was in terrible condition. Several steps were missing, and it looked as if it might collapse at any moment.

CRRREEEAAAKKKKK

Travis jumped, spinning around.

What was that? He swung the flashlight about, searching for the source of the creaking.

“H-hello?” He asked, eyes scanning the room. “Is someone there?” He sat the candelabra on a bench, and spun slowly in place, searching for anything out of the ordinary, ears straining to catch a sound, any sound. But there was nothing, except the distant moaning of the wind.

He checked his watch; he’d only been in the house for twenty minutes, and already he wanted to leave.

Travis licked his lips nervously, picked the candelabra back up and moved slowly back to the front hall.

Hmm, where to go fr—he froze, as a tendril of coldness snaked along his back, and an icy draft of air extinguished the candles.

“Who are you, child? Why are you here?” A wispy, cruel voice, cold as a mid-winter night, whispered from directly behind Travis.

He whirled around, but saw nothing. “Who’s there?” He called, eyes wide open.

There’s nothing there. I was only imagining things. It was only a sudden gust of wind that blew out the candles. Thats all.

He fumbled around for a moment, then flicked on the flashlight and shone the beam around. Not seeing anything, he relit the candles once more.

That Billy Hudgens. When I get out of here, I’m gonna pound his face in for this.

Holding the candelabra above his head, he moved toward the stairway. This time he made sure that the flashlight was on, just in case.

The stairs squeaked loudly as he ascended them. The runner that ran down the center of the steps was covered in a thick layer of dust, and the sticky tendrils of cobwebs that hung from the railing reached out to grab at him as he passed.

At the top of the stairs was the balcony. On the wall facing the hall was a portrait of some rolling countryside in the springtime, and below it was a small table that held a broken vase and a couple of candlesticks.

I should grab those candlesticks and put them in my pack, just in case I need them later, he thought, setting the candelabra on the table. He shrugged off the backpack and set it on the floor, and reached for one of the candlesticks.

Only it wasn’t there.

Feeling only empty air, Travis turned his head and saw that the candelabra and the two candlesticks were floating a foot and a half above the surface of the table.

His jaw dropped and he began backing away from the floating objects.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” The voice again asked, this time from where the floating lights were.

It’s only my imagination, it’s only my imagination, he kept telling himself as he continued backing slowly toward the stairs.

“Tell me child!” The voice was getting louder, more agitated. The house was beginning to shake.

“I-I-I’m just h-here because my f-f-friends dared me to sp-spend the night. Th-that’s all.”

The candles dropped, their flames going out before hitting the floor. A half-decayed woman glowing with a greenish-white light suddenly materialized from the wall, and swooshed over to Travis, who by now had made it to the foot of the stairs, and was turning toward the front door.

“I don’t believe you.” She said, blocking his path to freedom. “You’re here for something more, aren’t you?”

“Come on, Ghost Lady, I just want to get out of here.”

“Silence!” She screamed, charging him. “You’ll never get it! Not while I control the house!”

Travis dropped to the floor, and the Ghost Lady poofed into the wall. He leaped back up and rushed to the door, but it was still locked. He whirled around, just in time to see a chair come flying across the room at him. He ducked, and it smashed against the wall, sending a shower of splinters in all directions.

“Grrrraaaaahhhh! I’ll get you, you little brat!” The ghost of Lady Bedingfeld screamed, sending a table in his direction.

Travis ducked under the table, only just making it, and dashed down the hall toward the rear door. He passed through the door that divided the front hall from the rear hall, and slammed it shut.

“BOO!” Lady Beingfeld screamed at him, popping out of the wall next to him, slashing at his face with her long, ugly nails. Fortunately for Travis, her ghostly body had no substance to it, so her hand passed around him.

“Ha! Guess you can’t get me, can you?” Travis taunted, slowly backing toward the rear door.

“If you think you’ll escape me, you are sadly mistaken, boy.” She said, then disappeared into a wall.

He continued backing, until he found the wall next to the door. He turned to try the doorknob, when he heard a loud rattling coming from the kitchen.

A terror filled him, as he jerked on the knob, to no avail. It was still stuck.

Suddenly, he heard a whir and an object embedded itself into the door just above his head. He looked up and saw a knife, gleaming silver in the light of his flashlight.

He turned in time to see Lady Bedingfeld rematerialize, fifty knives floating in the air around her.

“I told you you wouldn’t escape.”

She threw a second knife at Travis, who ducked.

I have to get out of here, he thought, as another knife thudded into the wood by his ear.

There was a window on the opposite side of the door, and as soon as Travis saw it, he knew that was likely his best—and only—option.

He ducked under the three knives that the ghost threw, and smashed the window with his flashlight.

It shattered, and without hesitation, he leaped through the jagged hole, tearing his jacket and cutting his arm in the process.

The ghost screamed in anger, and charged after him.

He dashed toward the back gate, and saw George gaping at the ghost chasing him.

“George! Run! Get out of here!” Travis screamed at him, slipping on a patch of dewy grass. The slip actually saved him, as one of the blades would have pierced him had he not slipped. The knife thudded into a tree trunk near where George had been, his footsteps pounding off in the direction of town.

Travis tried the gate, but found it was stuck, so he turned and ran down the side yard, knives whizzing by and thudding into various objects.

Ricky stood by the other gate, holding a stick like a club, as Travis rounded the corner.

“Ricky! Do something!”

Ricky ducked as a knife flew by, and then launched the stick at the ghost.

It didn’t do anything really, but it distracted the ghost just enough that Travis was able to leap over the gate.

The ghost let out a horrible scream.

Travis and Ricky looked back, and then ran, ran as they never had before.

When they were a distance away, they stopped to catch their breath.

Travis gave a ragged, shaky laugh. “Guess I didn’t make it all night. Think Billy will understand?” He tore a bit of the lining out of his jacket and pressed it against the bleeding cut on his arm.

Ricky looked up. “Dude, there was an actual ghost in there! And you survived! Me and George’ll stand up for you, in any case, ‘cause we both saw. George did see it, didn’t he?”

“Don’t know how he could’ve not seen it.”

After a couple more minutes, they continued on. A bit further on, they met back up with George, and continued the rest of the way to town.

**Author's Note:**

> I am currently working on revisions to this story, so the content you read now might be changed drastically at a later time.


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